


Ignorance Is Blitzed

by ProblematicFavesAreProblematic (SaritaNotSerena)



Category: Band of Brothers (TV 2001)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Withdrawal, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28183251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaritaNotSerena/pseuds/ProblematicFavesAreProblematic
Summary: When you come into contact with some substance that makes you sick while on a routine building search, Ron realizes he may not be as emotionally detached as he’d thought initially thought.
Relationships: Ronald Speirs/Reader
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

You’d barely had a chance to get out of the building you’d been searching before you coughed so violently you fell to your knees, a horrible gasping sound tearing its way out of your throat before you even have a chance to scream for a medic.

_You were dying. You_ **_had_ ** _to be dying._

You’d found an ivory crushed tablet at the bottom of a footlocker you’d found inside of the bombed out general store the Nazi’s had been using as sleeping barracks, and instantly pinched some of it between your fingers for closer inspection, rubbing the chalky dust between your fingertips to see if it had the same texture as aspirin. 

It wasn’t uncommon for one of you to find medications and other rations in footlockers and other personal items during an inventory search, and most of the time you could easily figure out what it was and whether or not it was something Doc or someone else might need. 

But this tablet and it’s powder were unfamiliar (aspirin would’ve had a more obvious, sour odor that you would’ve clocked the minute you’d opened the footlocker’s lid), and when you brought it to your nose to sniff it more critically you instantly regretted it—the smell was _chemical_ and _harsh_ and it burned your nasal passage in a way you’d never experienced before. Your eyes had instantly watered and you’d exhaled sharply through your nostrils in a vain attempt to make the hurt go away.

The pain spread up your head and spiderwebbed into your brain. A bursting prickle of pain behind your eyes flared like a burning star, your face had begun feeling hot and your head was ringing. 

_It’s too_ **_hot_ ** _in here, I have to get out of here so I can_ **_breathe_ ** _._

You pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes as you stumbled back out the way you had come, bumping heavily between the rough stone of the wall and your friends as you desperately tried to remember the way out. 

You felt sick to your stomach as your skin breaks out into a cool sweat. Panic was setting in, with your ability to breath compromised as well as your hearing beginning to go white.

“Y/n?” you think you hear Martin calling your name through the fog that is taking residence in your ear canals, and something is trying to pull your hands from your eyes. “Hey kiddo, what’s wrong? What’d you find—?”

“ _DON’T_!” You blurt, opening your eyes and wishing you hadn't when the room begins to spin. You see the light of the doorway over Bull’s shoulder- _Bull? When did he get here?-_ and you close your eyes and forget everything else except for _forward_ and _outside_ and _I can't breathe…._

“ _Hey_!” Someone ( _Luz_?) growls as you shove the shape of him out of the way, and you don’t think you’re making sense but you’re talking all the same.

_Stop talking, you need air!_

When your knees hit the hard ground you barely have a chance to catch yourself on your hands before you dry heave so hard you can feel the ache of it in your ribs. Your heart is beating too fast and hard in your chest and if you could feel your hands you’d use them to tear some of your layers away because you’re _boiling_ _alive_ and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Fuck, what happened— _WHAT HAPPENED?_!”

With a great deal of effort you crack your eyes open again and spot Ron Speirs’ signature glare coming your way, shucking off his vest and bag without breaking stride as he neared. You’re aware of Martin and Bull by your sides, but you can’t seem to figure out what they’re saying.

_Why is no one helping me? Can’t they see I’m dying?_

“Don’t touch the tab- **_cough cough_** ….the _foot_ locker….!” you try again, tasting blood in your mouth after you released another hacking cough, and you’re dimly aware of Bull pulling your hat off of your head and sigh at the blissful chill of fresh air on your clammy skin.

“We got it, no one’s gonna touch it, y/n—” he murmurs somewhere to your left, and you think you nod in understanding but you can’t be sure/

“What’s happening?” Ron snapped, his rough hands grabbing your face and tilting it up so he could look at it. “Where does it _hurt_ , y/n—?”

“I can’t _breathe_! It's _so hard_ to _breathe—_ _Fuck_ , i think my brain is melting…”

“Your _brain_?” his voice is lower in volume now, yet your head still throbs as if he were shouting. Your head is thudding in time with your heartbeat, and you don't realize you’ve been crying until his thumbs brush away from the tears clouding your vision.

A tremble runs through your body and you squeeze your eyes shut as the world tilts from side to side unreliably. 

His rough hands are abruptly snatched back, but you can’t open your eyes to keep track of where they have gone. 

Suddenly, a set of arms hook under your knees and shoulders and you're lifted from the ground, your head reeling.

“ _Don’t_!” she gasps as the person carrying her begins to quickly walk back the way you’d seen that Speirs had come from. “I’ll _get sick_ on you—!“

“Then _get sick_ on me. It’s not the worst thing to happen to this coat.” Ron says matter-of-factly, making his grip on you painfully tight as he begins barking orders at people around you.

“ _Ron—_ ” you try again, but your body spasms in his arms as the pain in your head crests to new heights. “Oh, God, _I think I’m dying—”_

“ _Shut_ _up_.” He hisses, and you think you hear a stain of panic in his command. “Just _shut up_ and try to stay awake”

You sob as you lean your head against his shoulder, your bones too big for your body and your skin aching.

The next time you blink Roe is suddenly there, and your mouth is so dry your tongue creaks as it moves in your mouth. 

You’ve been set on a lumpy mattress somewhere and Ron, Nix, Bull, and Roe are standing around you and talking amongst each other too quickly for you to catch. 

By some miracle you are able to shove Roe away from your side just in time to avoid your vomit as you lean over the side of the bed and throw up painfully onto the ground where his feet had just been.

Your head is so foggy now, and everything hurts so badly you wish that you would just die and be done with the whole thing.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up about that?” you hear Ron chide, and hands are smoothing your hair off of your face and neck with a gentleness you didn’t expect from someone so rough. “You heard the Doc, didn’t you?”

You shake your head because you honestly had no idea what Eugene may have said (because up until recently you hadn’t even known he’d been there), letting another set of hands push your shoulders back until you were laying on the mattress again. 

You felt Roe rubbing at the skin inside of your elbow as he prepared some sort of injection, and you tried your best to hold still so he could find a vein.

“C’mon, y/n,” Nixon’s voice was far away, and in your delirium you could’ve sworn he sounded just like your dad. “I know it’s tough but try to stay still—”

_Home, home, should’ve stayed home. Wouldn’t have died like this at home…._

“It’s okay, darlin’” Roe mumbled, cursing in French as another spasm of trembling runs through you. “It’s gonna be over soon—”

Before you can even begin to panic about that promise, hands grab your face again and turn your head away from the doctor, and when you open your eyes all you can see is Ron.

“It’s not poison, you’re not dying, Y/n- _look at me!_ Good, now just look at me and the Doc’ll give you something to make you feel better—”

Th poke of the needle makes you cry out like a baby, but rather than getting angry with you Ron just nods and makes a soft _tsking_ sound under his breath.

“ _I know, sweetheart. I **know**_.”

You watch those dark eyes of his harden as he shoots a look towards Roe. “How long till that shit kicks in—?”

“ _Seconds_. It may not knock her out, but she should start feeling better right away—”

Speirs didn’t bother waiting for the man to finish before looking back down at you and softening his gaze once more.

_He must be scared, he wouldn’t be acting like this in front of other people if he wasn’t scared i might not make it._

Whatever Roe had injected you with was cold in your veins, _blissfully_ cold, and you could feel it turning your spasming limbs to lead with each slowing _thud_ of your heart.

Taking what had to be the first deep breath you’d taken in hours, you watch as Ron nods and makes a point to sync your breathing, his breath cool of your damp face as he exhales with you.

“ _Good_ , good. That’s _good_ , sweetheart….”

Your eyes lose their ability to focus, eyelids now too heavy to keep open.

But the idea of letting them close and going to sleep filled you with dread, and even though you couldn’t articulate your concern Ron seemed to read your mind and you felt his lips at the shel of your ear.

_**“I’ll be here when you wake up. I promise you that you’ll be okay, okay?”** _

You weren’t sure if he was saying it more to you or to himself or to the other men in the room, but you nodded all the same.

A cool cloth is wiped across your brow and you feel yourself sinking into whatever medicated slumber Roe has concocted for you.

“What the fuck is Pervitin and what the hell was it doing in an SS footlocker?”

Bull’s voice sounds like it’s underwater, and the harder you try to listen and see what the answer is, you quicker you slip into the cool and inviting darkness that curled around the edges of your mind.

 _I could rest_ , you think with resigned exhaustion as you let yourself fall from consciousness. _It’s been so long since I’ve rested…._

The weight of Ron’s hand on your cheek was the last thing holding you to the world, and when that slipped away you followed suit.

And nothing hurt anymore.

_****** **IMPORTANT HISTORICAL CONTEXT:** _

_After discovering boxes of tablets labeled Pervitin on a downed German supply plane (if i remember this correctly), the Allies realized that the Axis countries had developed a performance-enhancing drug that would: 1. Keep soldiers awake and active for days at a time without needing sleep/food, 2. Increased aggression and confidence in battle, and 3. Kept soldiers from slipping into ‘shell shock’._

_BIG PROBLEM THOUGH, BC PERVITIN IS LITERALLY JUST METH. REALLY REALLY PURE AND CONCENTRATED METH (which is BAD!)!_

_So, the Allies said to themselves: “Self, self here. Listen- what if_ **_we_ ** _came up with_ **_our own_ ** _Pervitin for_ **_our soldier_ ** _s so they_ **_too_ ** _can be better/faster/stronger?”_

_So, the Allies came up with Benzedrine- WHICH IS ALSO METH AND STILL VV BAD FOR YOU!_

_In this story, reader stumbles across some accidentally and unknowingly ends up ingesting it and you get vv sick (which is also a thing that happens to ppl who accidentally inhale amphetamines). Bc I’m a nerd I looked it up that nowadays you’d probably be given some sort of Benzodiazepine/nourishing fluids cocktail to counteract the side effects, so we’re gonna pretend that’s what the cure is in the 40s MKAY? MKAY._


	2. Chapter 2

The shot the doc had given you only confirmed what the SS prisoner had tried to communicate to Bull in broken English- the nazi’s _were_ giving their footsoldiers amphetamines as stimulants and aggression boosters.

Ron supposed that he should feel some comfort in that- that it hadn’t _truly_ been _poison_ or some _aneurysm_ of some kind that had left you this trembling and sick mess on the mattress before them.

But you still were _hurting_ , still sick and trembling and miserable despite Doc insisting that the drugs he’d given you ensured that you weren’t in any discomfort. He knew better than to fully believe that- sure, you may not be getting violently ill at his feet anymore, but that didn’t mean you were anywhere near _okay._

When you’d stumbled from the building he’d thought at first you were drunk, your steps staggering and your knees buckling like some crumpling marionette. He didn’t think he’d ever seen you so pale, and the haunted, terrified look on your face made his heart turn to stone in his chest when he’d caught it. 

He may not have known you and been your friend as long as Bull or Nix or Grant or even that squirrelly kid Christenson, but the idea of something taking you away from the world had become unacceptable somewhere between New York and Normandy. 

Your friendliness with Grant and Nix had brought you existence out of Ron’s peripheral and into his direct line of sight, and when you’d masterfully articulated the most effective way to refit the Allies-issued rifle with stolen parts from the German’s more advanced weaponry, you’d made it clear that you were not to be looked over just because you were easy on the eyes.

Which you _were_ , and as much as Ron hated to admit it he had caught himself admiring you from across a classroom a time or ten while in Georgia. He just was better at _hiding_ it than all of the other idiots who you would catch gaping at you.

You were easy to like, even for someone as prickly as Ron knew himself to be- strong and sincere and friendly and so _fiercely_ loyal to the group of idiots you affectionately called ‘your boys’ that, even when he actively _tried_ to dislike you, he couldn’t seem to manage it.

Not that he’d ever told you as much. _Obviously_. That wouldn’t do.

Or, it _wouldn’t_ have done— to be more accurate.

Until now, he was fine with your strange friendship of comfortable silences and shared looks of reassurance and private jokes followed by even more private grins. You just seemed to fit, not like you’d filled a missing space, but more like you just seemed to... _complement_ him.

And he was content to just remain that way— a dark and brooding shadow to your beautiful, blinding light. 

But now, having had a taste of what it would feel like to have your brilliant light nearly _snuffed_ _out_? He felt …. _threatened_ , something you had once teased was the most dangerous weapon the battalion had at its disposal. 

“ _God help the son of a bitch who ever cuts you off in traffic, Ron Speirs. If science can ever figure out what makes you tick, they should bottle it and sell it for profit….”_

The memory seemed horribly ironic now.

_You, you’re what makes me tick._

Even as you’d laid there shaking like a leaf, he’d been unable to see you as anything other than beautiful- a wounded Nike in army green.

Well, you _had_ _been_ in green— after about an hour of rest you’d sweat through your jumpsuit and in order to cool you off Ron and Roe had had to cut your layers away until you were left in your sweat-soaked undershirt and underpants. 

Of course, the perspiration on your skin had instantly cooled and sent you into a violent fit of shivers that only ceased after Ron got sick of watching you suffer and he’d forced the young man to help him carry you to the closest source of hot water and clumsily held you in a warm bath until your shivering subsided to an occasional twitch of your hand or foot.

Ron had never sat in a bathtub with another person before, but he figured that if he were going to it, it may as well have been for you. 

Your head had been heavy on his shoulder has he’d held you against him, the only sign of your wakefulness being your occasional grumble of _Is it raining?_ or _if you’re going to kill me just do it already_ or _Ron I’m sorry I fucked up._

Roe had said nothing about how Ron rocked you in his arms whenever you tensed or shivered, nor did the medic seem to give off the impression that he found your symptoms surprising for someone in your situation, which filled Ron with relief.

_“Y/n’s body hasn’t come into contact with methamphetamine before, if i had to guess. A lot of what we saw was her body doing what it’s supposed to do in order to get it out of her system….doesn’t look good, but it all this means everything’s doing exactly what it’s meant to….”_

At least you weren’t dying. 

Each day that passed brought them one day closer to going home, closer to getting to go home where he didn’t have to worry about his friends and brothers getting killed the moment he let his guard down. Ron wasn’t sure if he believed in destiny, but he’d decided long ago that you and he were going to survive this whether you wanted to or not.

You were fucking with his plans, getting yourself hurt like this.

If he didn’t know how badly you were going to beat yourself up about making such a mistake, he probably would've been angrier about the whole thing.

But here, now? Ron couldn’t find it in himself to feel anger, not for you.

Never for you.

Roe had left him to watch you after your temperature had stabilized and the two of them had dressed you in some of Bull Randleman’s cleanest boxers and undershirt. You’d only stirred a few times since the initial injection and when you did Roe had made it clear that you were to be hydrated.

So there you were, back on the lumpy mattress in between Ron’s legs with your back against his chest, sipping from his water canteen while you apologized for maybe the hundredth time for something that wasn’t your fault (and even if it had been, he wouldn’t have blamed you for).

He watched you with soft eyes as you lowered the canteen and took a deep breath, another wave of _something_ unpleasant washing over you that he couldn’t see, couldn’t ease for you.

“Do you need to get sick?” he asks quietly, but you’re shaking your head before he can finish.

“No, no. Just dizzy.”

Your tired gaze finds his face over your shoulder and you seem to study him for a moment, chapped lips parting a few times as if you want to say something, but the words seem to die on your tongue.

He lets your eyes trail over his face, taking a moment to take in your closeness as well.

“They’re gonna think we’re sleeping together.”

Your words surprise him, the amount of apology in your tone making his chest ache. You sigh again, looking at his canteen in your hands and working your jaw.

“The replacements, no matter what company…..they said it about Nix in Toccoa and Bull and Grant since Normandy. It’s….I’ve gotten used to it, but—”

“ _Let them._ ”

You freeze at that, and when he whispers your name he swears he’s never seen you look so shy.

Ah hell, he’d done stupider things than tell a girl he liked her. 

And if anyone deserved his honesty, it was you.

He shrugged casually, taking the canteen from your hands and leaning over to set it on the floor. The action brought his face closer to yours, and when you didn’t flinch away or look unhappy he gave you a look he knew _you’d_ be able to see as genuine, even if to anyone else his stern expression hadn’t changed.

“Ron,”

_“Y/n.”_

You look as if you’re about to argue more, but with one more look at him you nod slightly.

He’s not sure what you’re nodding for,and he isn’t sure that you know either, but it feels as if you’re agreeing to something he’d been hoping you’d say yes to.

“ _I’m scared I won’t wake up._ ” you admit quietly, and when he pulls you back against him you follow so beautifully he almost kisses you. _Almost_.

He settles for tucking your head under his chin, and when you relax against him he feels privileged. 

“I won’t let that happen. You’ll wake up—”

“ _Why_?” you ask softly, and Ron hopes that this is the final wave of exhaustion your body has to endure. 

He knows you aren’t just asking about why he won’t let you die in your sleep, and he has to think for a moment before finally the answer comes to him as easy as breathing.

“Because, I just _do_.”

You fall asleep shortly after that, your fingers laced with his in a light hold that he was reluctant to break.

When Bull and the Doc come by a few minutes later, they find the two of you curled around each other like ivy and both sound asleep.

The two men stare at the scene before them for a few moments before Roe makes a sound of surprise in the back of his throat. “Well, I’ll be….I didn’t necessarily see this coming.”

Bull barks a laugh, too relieved that you’re looking so much better to share the man’s stunned awe. With an approving nod, he nudges Eugene with his shoulder.

“C’mon, Doc. Let’s let em have an hour, unless you wanna be the one to wake up Sparky over there and let him know you approve—?”

Roe is out of the room before Bull can finish the offer, and with a grin the large man pops his cigar between his teeth,

“ _Good for you, kiddo_.” he says under his breath, a grin on his face as he quietly shuts the door behind him.

An hour wouldn’t hurt.

_~~**(WOO HERE IT BE, THANK YOU FOR READING MY RAMBLINGS AND I LOVE YOU GUYS)** ~~ _


	3. Chapter 3

If you weren’t convinced that Dike was moments from getting himself, you, and the rest of Easy killed, you would’ve sworn that you were going to kill him yourself.

At least if you shot him, it meant that someone who actually knew what they were doing could take his place, and _that_ meant that something like _this_ would never happen again.

_There may not be an Easy Company left to save, in a few seconds…._

You, Christenson, and a few replacements had found cover behind the shell of a truck, a few yards up the field from the hay bale you knew Dike to be hiding behind. 

“What in the fuck is happening over there?” Christenson shouted, the replacements trying their best to hold cover while the two of you desperately tried to figure out a way to get somewhere more tactical to alleviate the fire currently being hailed upon all of you like some biblical plague.

“Dike’s being a pussy!” one of the replacements replied before a bullet dinged him in the helmet and he cursed pitchily. “Why isn’t anyone _doing_ anything—?”

You could hear shouting from the hay bale, so you knew your friends over there were still alive and _trying_ to do something.

_If we stay here, we’ll die before we can even try to do something helpful._

“What’s CP doing?” you shout to the replacement on your left, grabbing his vest and pulling him down out of the line of fire. “ _Use you binoculars—_!”

With (understandably) fumbling hands, the young man brings the apparatus to his face and scans the tree line, cursing aloud each moment that passes and he can’t see them.

Anxious energy has you so keyed up your body is trembling, but you know that if you rush him it’ll just stress him out and make it worse.

“Good job,” you say, even though both you and he know that he hasn’t really accomplished anything yet. “I’ve got you covered, just let me know whenever—”

“ _Got em_.”

Both you and Chistenson share a look of minute relief. So far, this was the first thing about this godforsaken day that had gone _right._

_At least the lot of you hadn’t been left to die._

“What do you see, Nelson?” the other replacement, _Grante with an ‘E’,_ called as he reloaded his gun. “Does it look like they’re on the radio—?”

“Winters is coming— _no_ , _wait_!”

You spot a runner for the Germans from your peripheral, and without hesitation you take aim and subdue them. 

_Six months ago I would’ve shot to wound….what would my family say if they saw me now?_

They’d have to talk to you first, and you weren’t sure if _that_ would ever happen again.

“Oh, shit…..it’s your _boyfriend—_ ”

“ _What_?!” 

You squint stupidly in the direction of the trees, seeing nothing but suddenly terrified at the prospect of having to watch Nix or Bull or Grant (or whoever else these dicks you worked with decided you were sleeping with) get killed in their stupid attempt at bravery.

_Unless he means…._

You watch someone _burst_ through the smoke of a target-missing mortar blast, charging like some avenging God of War towards the hay bale shrouding Dike, Lip, Luz, and however many more of your friends were trapped behind before disappearing.

_Ron Speirs, you goddamned psychopath._

“ _Fuck_.” you bit out, turning to Christenson and getting his attention. “Any sign of I Company?”

The four of you initially had been part of a bigger group, and your aim had been to hook up along the outer fringes with some of I Company and create a perimeter from which the Nazi soldiers would be unable to escape or send for reinforcements. 

Christenson nodded. “They look like they’re waiting on us—”

“Yeah, well tell ‘em to get in line!” Grante barked unhelpfully, his voice cracking and reminding you just how young he was. “ _We’re_ waiting on us, too!”

You hear a shout of your last name, and when you look back to the hay bale you see that Ron and Lipton are waving to get your attention.

When you meet Ron’s eyes you see the fire of battle raging inside of him, and you can’t help but feel relief that Dike was no longer in charge of your fate.

Using hand signals that had been drilled into your head ever since Georgia you tell him and Lip that five of your party are down, but you have eyes on I Company and just need the okay to hook up with them.

You watched as the two men spoke to eachother, and when they turned away from you you imagined they were relaying what you’d said to Luz so he could let Sink know your intentions.

After a few moments, Speirs tells you with quick and precise motions that you are good to go— he has cover fire arranged for your group so you can dash the final 200 yards into the building you knew housed I Company.

You shoot him a thumbs up before turning to Christenson and nodding excitedly.

“ _Ready, kids_?” you ask, and when they voice their readiness you make a dash for it, leaving the shell of protection the car provided behind and running as quickly as you could towards the bombed out farmhouse, the sound of heavy breathing letting you know that at least Christenson was right behind you.

You don’t look back, _can’t_ look back- all that mattered right now was _forward_ and _careful_ and shouting _“flash FLASH FLASH!_ ”

The call of _THUNDER_ preceded you and Christenson all but throwing yourselves through the doorway and into the arms of the five I Company men you’d arranged to meet.

“Fuck, where’ve you _been_?!” one of them is shouting in your face, and you glare at them qyuickly before looking to where a blood-speckled Nelson is gasping for breath in the doorway. Grante was nowhere to be seen, and one look from Nelson told you that the younger man hadn’t made it.

“The salon, getting my hair permed.” you deadpan to the rifleman, finding the CO and shaking his hand.

“Where do you want us?”

He nods and waves Christenson and Nelson over. “ _Just this way, ma’am…_.”

~  
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“ _Ho_ -ly shit.”

You look up at the I Company CO ( _Parker_ , you remember quickly) parts of a jammed machine gun between your legs as you desperately attempt to fix Nelson’s weapon.

“ _What_?” you ask, fingers moving faster than your mind can keep up with as you quickly dislodge the shrapnel from the chamber of the gun and begin putting the thing back together on reflex.

You had been holding the line for the past hour, and for that hour the same question had been on everyone’s mind. “Tanks? Did we miss a runner—?”

_Where the fuck is the rest of Easy? They should’ve been here by now to check in…._

When the gun is reassembled, you shove it into the replacement’s hand and move to see what has Parker so excited, hoping beyond hope that you’d see the faces of your friends rushing to meet you.

To your horror, you only saw _one_ face, and it happened to be the face of the man who made a point to be the one who woke you up each morning with a full canteen and the promise of breakfast.

_Of course it’s going to be someone important to me, my…..whatever it is he is to me._

“Where’s everybody?” Christenson shouted, an unfazed Ron breezing past him to quickly grab the ammo and sling it over his shoulder.

Ron goes straight to the CO and starts talking to him in harsh tones under his breath, yet his eyes still search the room until they find yours.

_He’s okay, he’s safe and he’s here now. It’s okay._

You give him a nod before moving on to the next jammed weapon that had been shoved into your hands wordlessly by Christenson after he takes one of the German ones from a body next to him.

_Fucking Dike. He’d have us fighting with slingshots and pebbles if it meant he got to stay warm at the CP. Half of us didn’t even have weapons until Bill and Babe started repossessing the Army’s shit. If we survive this, I’m going to kill Dike, I swear to God…._

You fix the gun, glad it was only a minor fix that was needed this time. When you look back to Ron, he’s tightening his helmet on his head and looking back the way he had just come.

_God_ **_damn_ ** _it. Of course he’s running back into danger. He’s Ron **fucking** Speirs._

You shake yourself from your stupor and quickly rush over to him as he picks up the last of his things and prepares to go.

When he looks up at you, you shove the rifle you’d taken off the corpse of a German you’d come across on your last scouting mission into his hands and take his standard issued one away.

“ _Take this one_ ,” you say breathlessly, as if you were the one who had been running. “It holds more rounds and shoots cleaner.”

He nods, eyes wild with adrenaline as he scans you over for any sign of injury.

“You good?” he asks, and you nod and _try_ to shrug casually.

It’s hard, you are also nearly vibrating with adrenaline and nervous energy.

“I’d ask you the same, but _clearly_ you’ve got a death wish, so—”

Before you can finish chastising him, his rough hands come up to grip your face and he smashes his lips to yours in a rough kiss that’s nearly _bruising_ in its force.

_Oh... **OH**. Oh **shit**!_

You inhale sharply through your nose, head tilting back as he steps into you and puts his hands on your shoulders and _squeezed._

You gape at him stupidly when he pulls back and feel the blood rushing to your cheeks in surprise at his boldness.

You hadn’t been kissed since _long before_ Georgia, hadn’t wanted to be kissed or coddled or shown too much affection because in your relatively short life, you’d come to know unreserved compassion as a weakness. 

_“Love is nice but it isn’t reliable. Life isn’t a fairytale, sweetheart— everything has a price._

_Nothing can hurt you if you don’t let it matter in the first place….”_

_Well, Mom— I’m doing my best, but I just don’t know if you’re right about this one, not this time…._

Ron smirks down at you with such a _self-satisfied_ look you smack him lightly on the chest on reflex rather than due to any actual upset.

“Yell at me later.” he offers when you open your mouth to speak, and with one more quick, breath-stealing kiss he’s gone again, running into enemy fire _far too casually_ for your liking.

When you turn to watch him go you catch Christenson staring at you, a similar expression of shock on his face.

_Ok, so I didn’t dream that, that actually happened._

You have to literally shake your head in order to get through the surprise, and when you do a weird pit of anger forms in your stomach.

_That fucker better live, because he can’t just do_ **_that_ ** _and run off._

You square your shoulders and grab the newly repaired gun at your feet, going to the hole in the wall and shooting at anything that looks as if it may mean Ron Speirs any harm.

He rolls over a stone fence, and you can’t help but shake your head.

_He’s fucking with my plans, that son of a bitch._

“So, _uh_ …. _that_ was—”

“Shut up, Christenson. Just…. _shut up._ ”

You hear the hitch of a chuckle from his direction. 

“Bull will be happy—”

“Shut. The fuck. _Up_! Keep shooting, you damn fucking _child….!”_

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“Ask him how far away their backup is.”

You nod to Dick, dutifully repeating the question to the bruised and bloodied german soldier who sat before a group of you after his comrade had identified him as his superior officer.

You listen to the mumbled reply and nod. “About three hours by foot, an hour if you cut through fields.”

“Ask him for a number. How many miles? How many villages?”

You press him for specifics, but he just spits bloodily at Dick’s feet before calling him something you couldn’t fully translate (but assumed was insulting).

“I’ll take it that’s a _no_ on getting specifics.” Nix smirked, stepping to the soldier and grabbing him bodily by the arm. “I think battalion’s gonna _love_ you—”

You squeeze your eyes shut as Lewis leads the captured man to a truck where the others are waiting to be transported back to wherever they’d set up HQ, pinching at the pressure point at the top of the bridge of your nose in a vain attempt to ease some of the pain of your stress headache.

“ _Headache_?” Winters asks, and you instantly lower your hand and straighten up.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” 

He chuckles at that, giving you a knowing look. “I think you and I both know you could lose a limb and _still_ insist that you’re fit for duty.”

You scoff a laugh. “I suppose it would depend on which limb…. and what duty, Sir.”

He looks at you with all the exhaustion of a first time father, and you laugh in earnest.

“Go see someone if it gets too bad.”

“ _Sir_.” you nod.

You smile as you watch him walk away, catching up with Nixon and falling into step with the man easily.

_How_ **_I_ ** _got accused of screwing Nixon and_ **_Winters_ ** _hasn’t, I’ll never understand…._

Turning to look back at the war-torn downtown, you catch Grant’s eye and he waves you over.

By the time you get to him, you find that he isn’t alone.

Leaning against the wall beside your friend is Ron Speirs, looking far too at ease for someone who you had spotted running through enemy tanks not an hour before.

“Heard _you_ had an exciting day!”

You freeze, eyes widening as you feel yourself blushing again. 

_Shit. SHIT!_

“ _Oh_ , I….um—”

“I was telling him about the car you hid behind,” Ron supplied mercifully, and you feel relief so instantly that you have to brace a hand against the side of the building in order to catch yourself.

“Oh _, yes! That_ exciting part of my day.”

Chuck looks at you strangely for a moment, bringing a hand to your forehead and holding it there.

You roll your eyes and push his hand away, smacking at it again when he tries to repeat the action. “ _Charles—”_

“ _Grant, Tab_!” 

The three of you turn towards the direction of Malarkey’s voice, the man jerking his thumb back to one of the trucks.

“Got some stuff for you that just got here…”

Giving you one last look, he points his finger in your face like he’s scolding a child.

“This interrogation isn’t over, young lady—”

“Don’t you mean _conversation?_ ” Ron asks, smoke from his cigarette floating around his face like fog over a lake.

You nod your head in Ron’s direction in a sign of agreement, and Chuck moves his arm so he’s now pointing at Ron.

“Y/n and I are far past social pleasantries, and I would never insult her by _lying..._ ”

You roll your eyes and gesture in the direction Grant had been called from.

“Don’t keep Mother waiting, you know how she gets.”

You watch Grant jog over and away from sight. Ron’s fingers deftly pull your braid out from beneath your collar and smooths it down, following the length of your spine in such a way that no one else would’ve been able to see should they look over suspiciously.

“If you didn’t look like you’d just _committed a crime_ ,” he says matter-of-factly. “He probably would’ve just given you a pat on the back and moved on.”

You turn and look at him over your shoulder, the closeness of his face reminding you of how he’d held you when you thought you were dying all those months ago.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly, suddenly feeling very shy around him.

He hums, lips quirking up in a quick smile. “Well, my ‘ _suicidal death wish_ ’ didn’t pan out as well as I’d hoped, so I’ll _live—”_

Something in your face made him stop, and with gentle hands he takes your shoulders and turns you to face him completely. You let him walk the two of you back behind the building a bit before stepping in to you again.

_Like he had before, in the farmhouse after he kissed me…._

You flush at the memory, and you may as well have said what was on your mind because he whispers your name in the way he does when he knows you’re overthinking things(or at least starting to).

Meeting his softened gaze, bite the inside of your cheek before speaking.

“I’m mad at you.” you say, hating the lack of conviction in your voice.

He nods, expression one of consideration as his hands come up to hold your face.

“I know.”

“Because what you did was _really stupid_ —”

“I _know—_ ”

“And then you pull a move like that, **_hey_** ” you cut yourself off when he smirks again, a chuckle in his throat when you glare at him. “Don’t you dare look so damn proud of yourself, I’m yelling at you—”

“Which move would you be referring to?” he goads, and you frown in order to hide the grin that threatens to break across your face. You shake your head in disbelief, leaning back against the side of the building.

“Oh my _God_.” you scoff out. “Are you _teasing_ me right now? Ronald Speirs, you’re _unbelievable”_

He smiles down at you, and you let yourself smile back at him and nervously bring one of your hands up to cover his as it slides down to cup the side of your neck. 

Your smile slips as your eyes unintentionally flicker down to his lips again, remembering how they felt against your own.

Shooting a quick look to either side, you slowly raise onto your toes and give him a quick, shy peck. You can feel him grin for a split second before he kisses you _deeply_ and far more thoroughly than you’ve ever been kissed before.

You sigh into the kiss, eyes drifting closed as you wrap your arms around his torso and fist the material of his jacket in your hands.

When you break for air you rest your cheek against his shoulder, hugging him tightly.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” you mumble, and for a moment you think he may not have caught what you said.

“If you think I’m going to let something as stupid as a bullet or a mortar stop me from coming back to you,” His lips are at your temple, and when you pull back to look at him follows you and gives you another smug grin. “you’ve got another thing coming.”

As you open your mouth to reply, the both of you hear Nixon calling your name, loudly asking people if they’ve seen you and which way you’d gone.

You both sigh, and smile at each other at the unintentional synchronization of the action.

“I think your _boyfriend_ is looking for you.” He pulls playfully on your braid when you roll your eyes at him and gently push him away.

“I think I liked you better when you were just quiet and broody and handsome—”

Ron smiles wickedly at that, and you groan when you realized what you’d just said.

“ _Don’t_ let it get to your head-”

“Too late.” 

Ducking another quick kiss to your lips, he steps back just in time as Nixon rounds the corner, his words forgone in favor of eyeing the two of you suspiciously.

“What were you—”

“ _What’s up Lew_?” you interrupt, trying your best to not look...what had Ron compared it to? 

_Looking like you’d committed a crime…._

Giving Ron a scrutinizing once over, Nix looked back to you and raised a brow.

“Dick’s wondering if you can show him how to switch one of the Kraut scopes to a rifle…”

“Sure!” you said, far too brightly. You had a feeling if you looked back at Ron he’d be smirking in unabashed amusement at your awkwardness. “Lead the way…”

With a frown and a suspicious _hmph,_ Nix turned and began to walk in the direction from which he’d come.

You follow dutifully, giving Ron a quick smile over your shoulder as you hurried to catch up with Lewis.

Ron looked beyond pleased with himself, shooting you a quick wink before bringing another cigarette to his lips and lighting it.

“Care to explain that?” Nix asks under his breath once you catch up to him, taking your arm in his like the two of you were at some cotillion.

You smirk to yourself, rolling your lips together to hide the action.

“Nothing to explain, Nixy. Everything’s perfect….”

And for the first time in your life, you truly meant it.

_**OOF HERE WE ARE AGAIN! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR READING THE RAMBLINGS I THROW IN YOUR DIRECTION AND ~~SORRY IF IT SUCKS~~** _


	4. Chapter 4

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Whatever sexist asshole came up with the phrase “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” had _clearly_ never met Ronald C. Speirs.

Because if they had, the statement would’ve been revised to something more along the lines of ‘ _not even hell can offer sanctuary from a scorned man who has nothing to lose._ ’

And with you MIA and Chuck Grant clinging to life in a foreign hospital? 

Ron was absolutely _unhinged._

Learning about what had happened to Grant had sent him into a rage unlike any he had ever experienced- Ron’s body nearly _vibrating_ with fury as he watched the other man taken away by the Austrian surgeon and some medics.

Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, he’d learned that the last time anyone had seen you was earlier that night when you’d told Bull you were catching a ride back to the hotel with a couple from town.

Along with a replacement you’d come across who had clearly had too much to drink in the bar that night.

Now that _couple_ was _dead_ and _you_ were _unaccounted for_. 

And Ron wanted _blood_.

You were solidly a part of his life now, the two of you making sure to see each other at least once a day despite the incredible amount of pressure you both were under since your first kiss after Foy.

Ron would be lying if he said that having you in his arms, even just for a stolen moment, didn’t act as a salve to the agitated anxiety that threatened to burn a hole in his chest. 

Whenever things became too much, all he had to do was remember the way your lips smiled against his as he pulled you into an empty room to kiss you breathless- the memory of your hands in his hair often the only thing stopping him from snapping at whoever had dared to irk him with their incompetence.

To think that the two of you had made it this far only to have you taken away just when he’d foolishly thought he could breathe easily?

 _Unacceptable_.

As he stood in the hotel parlor, gun trembling in his hand, he remembered what he’d heard you say after you’d been told about Liebgott’s unprompted attack on the old man in the hills, your hands beating at the other man as you cried openly for the first time since you’d learned about Muck, Penkala, Joe Toye and Bill Guarnere.

_“You fucking petulant_ **_child!_ ** _We’re supposed to be better—_ **_YOU’RE_ ** _supposed to be better than the monsters we just liberated these people from! Did all of our friends give their lives just for you to throw it away because_ **_you couldn’t control your temper?!_ ** _You going to_ **_make us watch_ ** _as Sink executes you for war crimes?! Stupid,_ **_stupid_ ** _boy…..!”_

The bloodied man before him smiled smugly through his broken teeth, spittle dripping onto his own jacket.

 _“What weapon?_ ”

There’s a great crash as both doors to the hotel are thrown open, and Ron hears Tab curse before there’s a sound of footsteps approaching the parlor.

“ _Y/N, WAIT! Don’t go in there—_ ”

Ron whips his head around as the door is kicked open, blood freezing in his veins at the sight of you- a bloody bandage wrapped around your head and exhaustion etched in your posture.

_You’re alive._

You look at the scene before you, taking in the situation as if you hadn’t been missing for hours and assumed grievously wounded by the replacement currently at Ron’s mercy. Talbert had a supportive arm around your waist, letting you lean on him as your chest heaved from exertion you’d clearly used to find everybody else.

When your eyes find his, your shoulders slump and your sigh of his name restarts his dead heart in his chest.

_You’re here. You’re alive._

His eyes flit across you, cataloging the split skin of your knuckles and the array of cuts and scrapes across your face and neck. Ron sees the beginnings of a black eye shadowing your right cheekbone, and his grip on the gun tightens at the sight of hand-shaped bruises darkening around your neck. The wound on your head seems to still be bleeding, a red river dripping down the side of your throat and staining your once-white shirt collar.

Bull rushed to you, pressing a relieved kiss to the crown of your head before looking back at Ron with dread in his eyes.

Ron focuses back on you….all he wants to see now is _you._

 _He hurt you,_ Ron said with a tick of his jaw.

 _He did,_ you confirmed with an unwavering stare. _But here I am._ ** _Despite_** _him._

“Staff Sergeant Talbert,” Ron commands quietly, reluctantly taking his eyes off of you to look at the young man. “Make sure she’s seen by Roe and then take her to my quarters. Stay with her until I get there.”

Talbert nods before clearing his throat nervously and turning to you. Ron watches as you nod minutely, flashing Ron another knowing look.

“Töte ihn nicht, nicht für **_mich_** ( _don’t kill him, not for_ ** _me_** _).”_

Ron grits his teeth at your request, shooting a look at Bull before giving you a curt nod. 

“Ich werde dich finden. **_Bitte,_** geh mit Talbert ( _I will find you._ ** _Please,_** _go with Talbert)_.”

Bull, who seemed to follow _at least_ some of the conversation, gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze- handling you as if you were made of the finest and most breakable glass

“ _C’mon, kiddo. I’ll go with ya._ ”

With a final glance Ron’s way you allow your friends to turn and guide you back the way you had initially come, your steps heavy and painful looking.

When Ron turns back to the replacement, he feels nothing but disdain.

_The fucker doesn’t even know you’ve just saved his pathetic life._

When he brings the butt of the gun across the man’s jaw and hears the sickening squelch and crack of a jaw being broken, Ron’s blood sings with vengeance at the idea that this cowards death will be slow and painful- that the man dies honorless and be buried in an unmarked grave like the unimportant, insignificant waste of space he was.

A waste of space who’d tried to take you and Grant from him- from _all_ of them.

“When you talk to an officer, _you say_ ** _sir._** ”

Ron cocks his gun, watching as all of the men around him wince in preparation for the deafening crack of the gun and subsequent splatter of blood and brains they knew would follow.

_“Did all of our friends die just for you to throw it all away? We’re supposed to be_ **_better_ ** _…”_

With a grimace, Ron wipes the blood on his hand on the replacement’s jacket and sniffs.

If killing this man meant jeopardizing his future with you, he’d gladly abandon his desire for vengeance.

He was going to have that future with you he’d promised himself.

And Ron Speirs was nothing if not a man of his word.

Besides, you needed him...and he’d be goddamned if he kept you waiting even a moment longer.

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_**HELLO HELLO, WHAT’S THIS?** _ _**Another twofer, just for you-fer ~~(sorry)~~** _

**THANK YOU FOR READING!**


	5. Chapter 5

  
  


You stared blankly over Bull’s shoulder as you let him fuss over you, wincing slightly when your friend touched the alcohol-soaked cloth to the place behind your ear where the bullet had broken the skin. 

_“Head wounds always bleed like hell, even if it’s nothin’ serious.” Roe had tried to reassure Bull and Tab, the poor medic already having treated your wound before you’d caught up with the replacement and the rest of Easy. “It’s not a serious injury- what_ **_I’m_ ** _more worried about is_ **_keeping_ ** _the ear clean...”_

Truly, you hadn’t even _felt_ the bullet tear through the shell of your ear, too focused on getting away from the replacement and the crazed look in his eyes.

The memory of it all was playing through your mind on a loop- the shift in the drunk man’s temperament when you and the couple had begun conversing in German. The sound of a _crack_ next to your ear as he shot the husband- _Sigmund_ , in the back of the head. 

The screams of Greta as the car careened out of control before coming to a violent stop. 

Tears came to your eyes as you remembered shouting for Greta to _run_ , desperately trying to pull her from the car and into the woods before she crumpled like a broken doll a moment after you’d managed to free her. 

You manage a broken shout just as you’re being shoved onto the ground and he’s on top of you. Hands had locked around your throat and _squeezed_ before you were even able to process what all had happened, those wild eyes burning into yours like two hot coals as the replacement used all of his weight to _press_ down on your throat until you tasted blood.

Your sharp thumbnails scraping into his eyes had broken his single-minded attack just long enough for you to hook your leg around his hip and twist yourself free with a wet, broken sounding gasp. 

But, more importantly, you remembered how you had sprinted into the woods like a _fucking coward-_ barely able to see between the oxygen deprivation clouding your eyes and the dark of night settling over the village.

_Run run run you have to get away he still has a gun oh fuck RUN RUN RUN, Y/N you’ve got to keep—_

“ _Y/N_!”

Bull’s voice makes you jump, and you feel your breath catch in your throat painfully as you meet his concerned gaze. 

The look he gives you is that horrible mix of pity and upset he hadn’t shown you since your run-in with Pervitin all those years ago. 

_Have you always been such a problem? Such a useless,_ **_stupid_ ** _idiot?_

“Don’t say that shit, you know you’re not either of those things…” 

You shake your head, sniffing back tears that threatened to make themselves known. You hadn’t realized you’d spoken your self-admonishment aloud.

“I _left them_ to die, Denver. I didn’t even _try—”_

It’s then that you catch sight of Ron at the door, your words dying on your tongue as you realize that he’s probably heard the whole exchange.

_He’s never looked at me like this before...maybe I shouldn’t have interfered earlier._

The grim look on his face made you feel like you’d disappointed him- as if he could _see_ the cowardice you’d been hiding within yourself all along. Tears stung behind your eyes as you watched Bull walk over and mumble something to him, Ron’s steely gaze locked on you unflinchingly.

You slide off the counter and turn to look at the mirror, feeling his eyes following you as you turn your head to the side to inspect the rebandaged shell of your ear.

The skin the bullet had split wasn't deep, and you’d been too distracted by the searing pain in your lungs and the sting of branches smacking your face and arms as you fled to even notice the steady stream of blood that had begun to flow.

_I should’ve stayed with Greta and Sigmund. I should’ve put a bullet in the replacement’s head myself…how could I be so_ **_selfish-?_ **

“Leave us.”

Ron’s voice called you away from your self-loathing, your eyes flickering to watch him sternly excuse Bull from the room.

_At least he’s not going to scold me in front of an audience._

You pad cautiously out of the bathroom as he closes the bedroom’s door behind Bull, his back rigid and hands curled into fists at his sides.

Your mouth felt dry. You could feel his anger from the other side of the room.

When he finally did turn to you, his expression was nothing less than fury, but when you opened your mouth to apologize his eyes narrowed and your words died on your tongue.

He makes you suffer under his glare for two agonizing minutes before clenching his jaw and beginning to stride over to you with determination.

_Ron wouldn’t hit me, right? I know he’s got a temper, but he’d never actually—_

In a move that caught you completely off guard, Ron drops to his knees the moment he reaches you and snakes his arms around your waist and all but _smashes_ his face into your stomach in one fluid motion. You gasp, the force behind his hold nearly making you stumble into him.

“ _Oh-!_ ”

The heat of his breath warms your skin through your thin undershirt, his hands fisting the material around your hips so tightly you think he might tear it.

Your hands hover awkwardly above his head, your fingers slightly trembling with uncertainty.

You’re not sure what to do- not sure if you can touch him right now.

Taking a few deep breaths, you finally are able to wet your lips enough to be able to speak again.

“Ron, I’m—”

“ ** _Don’t_**.”

You can feel his lips mouth the word more than you actually hear it, sighing when one of Ron’s hands relinquishes it’s hold on your shirt to grip possessively at the skin of your hip.

“Just…. _wait_.”

He sounds authoritative even when he’s mumbling, and you find yourself nodding despite the fact you know he can’t see it.

There is a slight shake in his arms, his muscles tight and his shoulders nearly at his ears with tension.

With more confidence than you actually feel, you finally bring your hands to rest lightly on the top of his head, fingers cautiously smoothing across the thick strands of his hair.

A sound you’ve never heard him make before slips past his lips, a groan that is both rage and overwhelming sadness at the same time. 

The sound of it hurts worse than any bullet.

You let your fingers card through his hair in earnest now, letting your nails scratch slightly at his scalp as he pulls you impossibly close.

Despite the tension in his hold, you feel yourself relax into it- purposefully mussing his hair and feeling him bow his head enough that you can incorporate the shorter hairs at the base of his neck into your ministrations. 

By the time your fingers begin to massage at his ears, you realize that both of your breaths have become even and steady. You also feel the tell-tale dampness against your shirtfront of reluctantly shed tears.

Ron takes a deep breath before turning his face to the side so his ear is against your hip, the scruff of his cheek rubbing against the strip of skin between your shirt’s hem and the waist of your underwear. His face is hot, still holding you against him like a child would his stuffed animal after a bad dream.

You close your eyes when his nimble fingers knead the base of your spine.

With a deep sigh, Ron turns his face to kiss your hip and keeps his forehead against you as he stands, following the path of your sternum upward. There is something almost reverent in the way he’s holding you, touching you- and if things had been different you know you would have felt embarrassed by the attention.

But not tonight, not when everything had been so close to being taken away from the both of you.

When he reaches his full height you allow your eyes to open softly, a sleepy sense of comfort settling over you.

His eyes are ringed with red, his jaw still tight but the rage on his face seems to have faded. As you smooth your thumb over the furrow in his brow he leans into your touch.

“ _Es ist in Ordnung_ (it’s okay),” you murmur, and when you see him about to protest you move your hand so you can put your fingers softly over his lips. “ ** _Ich bin_** _ok_ ( _I am_ okay)....”

“You almost _weren’t_ ,” he says against your fingers, taking your wrist and moving your hand down his neck so he can take _your_ face in his hands. “Nobody knew where you were….it was _this_ ** _fucking_** _close_ to _not_ being okay—”

You can’t help but scoff ruefully at that, your guilt from earlier forcing its way past your momentary lull of calm and tightening your throat. He narrows his eyes at the sound, and you have to give yourself a moment before you feel confident enough to speak.

“I should’ve….I left them there to _save myself_ , Ron—”

“ _Hey_ , don’t do that.”

Your eyes look away at his admonishment, but with a quiet hiss of ‘ _look at me’,_ you reluctantly look back at him.

His gaze is fierce as he looks at you. “You’re the _only one_ who thinks you’ve done something wrong and if you think _I’m_ going to listen to you do that, you’ve got another thing coming….”

When he sees your lip quiver he curses under his breath and brings his lips to yours in a comforting kiss, letting you control the depth and pressure of it in your own time.

By the time you pull back to look at him, there are tears rolling silently down your face and he presses another kiss on your forehead before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

“I want you to stay,” he says quietly.

You hum into the warmth of his neck. “I _want_ to stay.”

The bed is unbearably soft and inviting, the bedsheets nothing short of heaven.

Stripping down to his boxers and undershirt, Ron pulls you so you’re half laying atop him, one hand finding the curve of your waist under your shirt and the other securely holding your head against his chest.

“I think I’m in love with you,” you admit quietly in the warm dark of the hotel room, expecting to feel him tense beneath you at the confession.

“Good,” he mumbles sleepily into your hair, his voice a soft rumble in your ear. “ _Weil ich weiß, dass ich es schon bin_ (because I know that I already am).”

A stupid smile breaks across your face.

“Good.”

“ _Good_.”

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**_HAPPY DAY AFTER JOE TOYE DAY! MAY YOUR BRASS KNUCKLES NEVER BE CONFISCATED! NEXT TIME WE SEE THESE TWO, THEY’RE GONNA BE DOIN’ IT!_ **


	6. Chapter 6

Ron watched as you sat beside the hospital bed, holding Grant’s still hand between your own and bouncing your knee nervously.

The look on your face was pained, eyes flickering between the copious amounts of gauze wrapped around your friend’s head and the tubes protruding from his arms. The two of you had been here for nearly an hour, waiting for the German doctor to come back with some sort of recovery timeline for Grant.

“They won’t be able to get him _home_ ,” you said quietly, a tone of defeat in your voice. “He can’t be moved, not when he’s….not like _this—_ ”

“ _Yet_ ,” Ron said firmly, despite the fact that he’d been thinking the exact same thing. “They just can’t get him stateside _yet_.”

Being optimistic has always been a foreign concept to him- always relying on others to summon it in response to his own comfortably black pessimism, the bleak reality he’d been conditioned to see firstly and foremostly since a young age. 

But he was willing to fake it for you. He'd do _anything_ for you.

One of the first things he'd noticed about you was how honest you were, be it in casual conversation or in your professional observations. It was the sort of realism he’d always admired and struggled to emulate in his own relationships- your ability to balance both the good and the bad was nothing short of miraculous in his eyes. 

He’d never had anyone in his life who could see his chronic negativity as anything other than a nuisance, not his mother or his father or any of his friends.

But you were the only one who didn’t dismiss his point of view- if anything, you encouraged him voicing it to you.

_“If we can prepare the worst-case scenario, we can better anticipate for failure….and besides, expecting the worst makes any success all the more rewarding, don’t you think?”_

Seeing you like this, _dejected_ and _hopeless_ , was unacceptable. It was almost as unwelcome as your natural tendency to assign any semblance of blame to yourself when things went wrong.

 _Only_ _you_ would apologize for saving your own life. Only you would willingly trade places with an innocent’s corpse.

When you turned to meet his gaze, he could see the guilt in your eyes- clearly conveying your thoughts like some sort of beacon.

_This could’ve been me, couldn’t it?_ **_Should_ ** _it have been me, Ron?_

Pushing himself away from the wall he’d been leaning against, he strides over to your side and crouches down, his hand finding your bouncing knee and pressing down so that your foot stays flat on the ground.

His other hand curves around the back of your neck and pulls your forehead to meet his, playing with your hair softly as you take a deep breath.

In a perfect world, he could take your pain and make it his. 

Just as he opens his mouth to tell you as much, the doctor knocks on the door loudly before coming in, the both of you rising to your feet quickly and standing at attention.

Ron’s German wasn’t as proficient as yours, so when the doctor began to speak he took a step back and allowed you to take charge.

He always found you beautiful, but watching you take charge of a situation never failed to make his chest tighten with affection for you.

A few words stood out to him- _remarkable, fortunate, recovery._ Ron watched as your tight shoulders loosened slightly the more the doctor spoke, but your face was still grim as you listened to the older man. 

After about fifteen minutes of back and forth, you held up a hand to stop the doctor and looked back at Ron.

“When are you being shipped out, again?”

Ron grit his teeth, not liking the reminder that your time of relative peace was quickly coming to an end. 

“Two weeks.”

There’s a flash of hurt in your eyes, one he sees you try to hide from him before nodding at relaying the information to the doctor.

“ _Es wird mindestens vier Wochen dauern, bis dieser Mann sicher bewegt werden kann_ (It will be at least four weeks before this man can be moved safely).”

Ron watches you digest the information, feeling guilty that there’s nothing he can do to help either of you about what comes next.

When he’d told you about his intention to stay with the men and go to Japan, he’d expected you to be angry. He was angry, and despite knowing that it was his duty to go he’d almost _wanted_ you to be upset with him- if only to give him something else to feel other than deep sadness at having to leave you.

But you’d just nodded, giving him a tight smile and kissing him lightly on the lips.

_“I understand, they’ll be needing a good leader. They’re lucky to have you. I have to meet with Sink now, but I’ll see you later. Thank you for telling me.”_

This was the first time you’d brought it up since then, which worried him more than he cared to admit.

You’d said you loved him and he believed you. But now he also got the feeling that you loved him enough to let him go.

To let him leave you without a fight.

That hurt worse, somehow.

So lost was he in his own head, he barely caught the tail end of your conversation with the doctor.

“ _... eine sehr mutige Frau_ (a very brave woman).”

When Ron refocused, he saw that the Doctor had his hand on your shoulder and was speaking to you softly, a look of bleak sadness on the old man’s face.

You gave the doctor a tight smile, swallowing some emotion and giving him a nod.

" _Ich hoffe du hast recht. Zumindest wird er nicht alleine sein_ (I hope you’re right. At least he won’t be alone)."

Looking up and catching Ron’s eye, you tense up again and clear your throat.

" _Danke, Doktor. Ich werde meinen Vorgesetzten die guten Nachrichten erzählen_ (thank you, Doctor. I’ll tell my superiors the good news)."

The doctor gives you and Ron each a curt nod, exiting as swiftly as he’d arrived.

You aren’t looking at him anymore, moving quickly to grab your coat and shrug it on.

“The doc says Chuck’ll be fine,” you toss a hollow grin his way as you walk towards the door and take a deep breath. “They’ll be able to move him to a hospital in England in a few more weeks—”

“Y/N,” he begins, but you shake your head and anxiously bite your lip.

“Later, Ron. _Please_.”

You don’t wait for him to reply before spinning on your heel and striding out of the room, leaving him behind.

~

It’s Nixon who tells him, in the end.

The man had found Ron after one of the PT exercises later that day, his jovial attitude unwelcome and unwanted.

“How’s our girl doing?” he asks casually, as if it isn’t obvious that Ron isn’t in the mood for conversation.

Shooting the other man a glare, Ron brings his cigarette to his lips and drags deeply.

Nix’s thick brows furrow. “I’m serious, I’m worried about her—”

“Then you should ask her about it, shouldn’t you?”

The ride back to the hotel had been tense, the presence of others making it so he couldn’t press you further as to the source of your anxious behavior. 

He didn’t like it. He was used to you sharing everything with him- anyone who asked, really.

Something was very wrong.

“I doubt she wants to talk to _me_ , right now. Not that I blame her, really…”

That caught his attention.

Shifting his narrowed eyes to Lewis, the other man paled and had the dignity to look embarrassed.

“ _Oh shit_ ….she hasn’t told you yet—”

_“Enlighten me.”_

Nix sighed, looking from side to side as if they could be overheard. The theatrics were unnecessary- no one was around to eavesdrop.

“ _ **Nixon** -_”

“They asked her to _stay_.”

Under the unflinching glare you’d once called ‘withering’, Nix told him about what was to come.

The Allies were to be holding a series of trials in the city of Nuremberg, trials to determine the fate of the people and persons behind the atrocities of the Nazi party. From the camps and their enforcers to the dirty politicians both foreign and abroad who allowed such destruction to occur, the International Military Tribunal intended to bring their crimes to light and make an example of them.

And they needed translators. Lots of translators.

That’s where you came in.

Because of both your frontline experiences and your run in with Pervitin, you had been hand-selected to act as both a witness and interpreter for the IMT.

_You had to_ **_stay_ ** _._

As Nixon relayed all of the information to him, all of the tension and odd behavior you’d been displaying began to make sense. It sounded like you’d been told shortly after your run in with the replacement, perfectly aligning with the timeframe he’d begun to feel you pull away from him.

It explained what you had said in the hospital, when the doctor had explained the time-frame needed for Grant’s recovery.

_“At least he won’t be alone…”_

Ron left Nixon mid-sentence, flicking his cigarette away without breaking stride.

He had to find you.

~

It was dinner by the time he made it back to the hotel, a smile breaking across your face when you spotted him striding in before turning back to chuckle at something Bull had said.

That smile stopped him in his tracks.

A few thoughts came to him all at once.

First- You hadn’t lied to him to piss him off, despite the rage burning in his chest- the more logical part of him seemed to understand that.

You hadn’t even lied, really. Just... _omitted_ the truth.

He knew you, and God knows you knew him. You saw him for what he was and for some inexplicable reason you loved him for it. You’d _known_ that he wouldn’t abandon Easy just because the opportunity to do so was presented to him, despite the fact that some part of you probably wished he would. The two of you had never really discussed what was going to happen when the rubber hit the road and your lives were once again your own, and although Ron knew he wanted you to be a part of his life he'd never allowed himself to fully flesh it out. 

_Did you want to stay with him, if not in physical presence than in agreed devotion? Would you be willing to wait for a man who’d already tied his future to the military and all the places it took him?_

_Was he willing to live with leaving you behind, saying goodbye more often than saying hello?_

The second thing he realized was that, as likely as it was for him to be called away, you were equally as likely to be needed elsewhere- away from _him_. You were as devoted to justice and this lifestyle as he was, you wouldn’t have gotten this far if you weren’t. Could he deal with that knowledge, knowing that, as much as you loved him, you’d leave him behind at the first call to service?

The last thing Ron realized was actually something he’d known since the day he met you, this thought having become as familiar as the sound of his name on your lips.

 _You were_ ** _it_** _for him._

It didn’t matter where the two of you were, or what you were doing- he wanted you to be his and he wanted to be yours. Ron was accustomed to having to fight for the things he wanted, and he was used to _keep_ fighting for those things even when the world decided to get in his way. The only thing he _wasn’t_ used to doing was expressing that to someone else.

But the fear of losing you, or even _worse_ \- having _you_ let _him_ go, was greater than any immature anxiety about being honest with you.

His eyes followed you as you stood, openly admiring the way you looked in your simple civilian clothes as you strode over to stand before him. The concerned look in your eyes only made him grin- you were so beautiful and caring and for some insane reason you were _his_.

If you wanted to be- which he was pretty damn sure you did.

Your hand on his shoulder returned him to the present, time having seemed to slow around him during his reverie. The loud hum of sound came back into focus with your touch, and when his hand came up to rest on the dip of your waste you looked at him incredulously.

“ _Ron_?!”

Snapping back into focus, he shakes his head slightly and clears his throat. From the looks of it, you’d been trying to get his attention for a while now. 

“What’s up with you? Are you okay?”

When he doesn’t reply immediately, you step a bit closer and lower your voice.

“ _Hey_ , what’s going on? Is everything—?”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts you, taking a deep breath and tapping his thumb against the belt of your high waisted trousers. “Just hungry, I guess.”

The look you give him is still suspicious, eyes flitting across his face for some clue he knew you wouldn’t be able to find.

Giving his shoulder a light squeeze before nodding, you lower your arm.

“ _O_ k…. then go get something to eat. It’s suspiciously good, tonight…”.

As he sat beside you at the dining table, hot food in his belly and a glass of brandy in his hand, Ron finally allowed himself to imagine a life like this- coming home to you each night without the threat of attack hanging over your heads. A life where he could kiss you whenever he wanted to and explore your body in all the ways he wanted to, the way neither of you had yet found the courage to initiate with the other. 

When he settles his hand on your thigh under the table you startle and whip your head to look at him questioningly. He watches your lips part in a silent gasp as his little finger comes to rest just short of the place where your thigh met your hip.

Just when he begins to wonder if he’d made a mistake, you settle your hand over his and nod.

Your shaky smile squashes any of his fear that he’d misread your intentions, that he’d been wrong to ever question your devotion.

“ _Bist du sicher, dass du das willst_ (are you sure you want this)? _Mit mir_ (with me)?” 

Your soft-spoken question holds the weight of a thousand more unspoken ones, and as Ron lowers his face to your ear he surprises you both by kissing your temple.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted, sweetheart.”

And he couldn’t wait to finally show you.

~  
~  
~  
 ** _(THIS IS BAD I’M SORRY I HAD TO BREAK UP THE CHAPTER BC MY BRAIN STARTED HURTING SO THIS IS WHAT WE GET KIDS)_**

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